


Lord of Manor Nocens

by EvilFuzzy9



Category: Original Work
Genre: Agarea, F/M, Fantasy, Inflation, Master/Servant, Sex, Succubi & Incubi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-08
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-22 08:46:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7428031
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvilFuzzy9/pseuds/EvilFuzzy9
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Governor of Eveland and his faithful insuccubus enjoy a bit of friendly intercourse. </p><p>[inflation, het, vanilla, master/servant, faint suggestions of futa, other kink]</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lord of Manor Nocens

"Master, master, what shall we have for supper tonight?"

Bouncing along on the balls of her feet, a young woman with dark purple hair chirped at the lord of Manor Nocens. She was lithe-limbed and pretty, dressed in clothes which emulated the general effect of tattered rags. Her slender feet, bare and white, stepped lightly on the hardwood floor of the hall.

Beside her walked a very lean man of average human stature, dark-haired and lightly mustached. His chin was marked with stubble that lent his jawline a deceptively rugged appearance. One might indeed have called him quite handsome, for all the faintly jutting gauntness of his figure, or the subterranean pallor of his complexion.

He was dressed more finely than his companion, too, by which it is meant that his clothes looked like actual clothing, and not just a scanty assemblage of sack-cloth.

"I'm not sure yet, Tulsa," he answered offhandedly. "We had elf-breast last night, elf-rump the night before, elf-fillet before that, elf-sausage before _that_ , and that one noodle dish I like with the elf-cheese and meatballs on Monday. It's Saturday, now. I'm not that hungry, anyways."

Tulsa pouted, and she leaned forward to press her torso against her master's side. Her blouse being no more than a tatty shawl in its coverage, laid over her shoulders and draped a very little ways down her back and front, the undersides of her modest bosom quite neatly sandwiched his arm.

"Fussig, O my darling master!" she breathed melodramatically, looking up at him with yellow cat's eyes. "Please don't tease your faithful servant like that. You know what Tulsa means. You're too clever _not_ to."

Fussig, arrested by Tulsa's embrace, turned his head to look at her. The young-seeming woman's backside lagged behind her upper body, stuck out pointedly. Her scanty garment's skirt rested very low on those shapely hips, and he could see the first suggestion of her gluteal cleavage just above the ragged-looking fabric. It also went barely even a third of the way down her thighs, and if someone had been standing behind Tulsa they would have been able to see _everything_.

Her hips swung lazily, the woman clearly aware of where her master's gaze had fallen. Almost exasperatedly, Fussig shook his head and lightly clapped her on the shoulder. He looked tiredly fond, like a parent dealing with a precocious but well-meaning child, or a kind master handling an exceedingly affectionate hound.

"I'm sure I have no idea what you mean, Tulsa," he lied, gently pushing his servant off of him. "I'm going to the library. There are some texts I wish to check."

"You're preparing for Cunnock Bishmont's visit, are you?" said Tulsa with only a slight pout.

"She made some interesting points last time," said Fussig airily. "I've been doing a bit of research to debate her with."

"But surely she has her next visit _tonight!_ " cried Tulsa, laughing. "You're intelligent, master, I know that much. Why would you delay that until now?"

"Not thinkingly, I wouldn't," was his wry response. "But you are a very distracting little imp, O Tulsa! Don't play innocent, you incorrigible insuccubus."

Golden eyes twinkled, and a limber form gaily wriggled.

"I have _never_ done such a thing," said Tulsa gravely, feigning offense. "I'm innocent of nothing, and I damned well KNOW it!"

This time it was Fussig's turn to laugh.

"Cheeky little devil," he said, shaking his head. "Go down to the kitchens and get ready for supper."

"You won't do it yourself?" said Tulsa.

"Chef Sarade is more than competent," said Fussig.

Tulsa pouted.

"I don't care how competent Sarade is," she said. "I want _your_ hands to be the ones preparing me, master❤"

Shamelessly, Tulsa shook her ass. She looked down at Fussig's pants, which were very tight and left little to the imagination. As always, she liked what she saw when she looked between his legs. It was the prime motive of her being, that bulge in her master's trousers, and she never got tired of looking at it.

She licked her lips and belatedly met his eyes. Imploring was her glance, her eyes bright with a pure and unadulterated longing. The front of her silk-rag blouse lifted as a bosom subtly swelled, growing rounder and plumper until her nipples could not be covered. Almost without thinking about it Tulsa adjusted the size of her breasts the way a normal incarnate being might undo a few shirt buttons.

Fussig was not fazed by this. It was perfectly normal for insuccubi like Tulsa to make changes far greater than a little inflation of the breasts. Even a lenge like himself—a properly organic lifeform like dwarves or humans, and not merely a self-incarnated spirit of black magic like Tulsa—could, with a bit of concentration, at least temporarily redefine fundamental properties of his earthly vessel.

"In what way do you want me to prepare you, exactly?" he asked wryly, surveying his servant's newly exposed breasts with a vaguely detached interest.

"Must I really say? But it's far too embarrassing..." Tulsa lied through her teeth, having truthfully no concept of shame whatsoever.

"You know the answer to that," said Fussig. He drew close and grabbed Tulsa's hand. "Do you want to be prepared in the sense Lang Cunt Gicoque prepares me, or in the sense Lang Cock Titphût prepares wild sea-humans?"

"I would object to neither," said Tulsa loyally. "Nor to anything else you might conceive, Lang Cock Nocent."

And smiling coquettishly she squeezed her arms together in front of her, clasping hands beneath an exposed, inflated bosom. Her eyes danced playfully over Fussig's body, thinking of how he looked underneath his clothes. Langfolk were never unattractive, and even if Fussig was otherwise very strange and small by the standards of his kind, still he possessed that peculiar, supernatural air of beauty. It was altogether _fey_.

Lord Nocent smiled loftily, and he patted Tulsa on the head. The buttons of his waistcoat undid themselves, and a brief zipping sound informed any who heard it that the fly of his pants was now undone. His clothes seemed to turn into smoke and vapor, solid fabric becoming fluid and insubstantial, falling from his body as if there was no physical contact skin and cloth whatsoever.

Around Fussig's feet pooled his garments, leaving him naked.

Tulsa stared admiringly at his body. Lean he was, even slenderer than Tulsa herself usually was, with little definition of muscle. One might have even called him scrawny. His limbs did not appear at all powerful, and overall there was some apparent slightness or frailty to his constitution. This was not entirely deceptive, either. Fussig was by no means a physical man, and he normally spent his days in the sedentary pursuits of literature and academia.

He was also very white, as a secondary consequence. Although Tulsa was much fairer-skinned that her sister Nadia, beside Fussig she looked practically olive. It greatly enhanced the sense of aristocracy about him, which was from the start quite apparent in his refined manner and precise elocution.

Fussig afforded a rare sort of smile to his familiar, and his eyes—usually far off with distant thoughts—focused savorously on her scantily clad form.

"You say the same thing every time," he remarked, eyeing her.

"And I mean it completely each time it's said," Tulsa replied.

"I don't doubt that," said Fussig. "You _are_ an insatiable little thing."

Saying this, he put a hand to his servant's chest. Tulsa smiled rakishly, welcomingly, and leaned her back against the wall. Commanding her nipples to harden and her cheeks to erubesce, the violette spread her legs and lifted the front of her skirt. A soaking pair of nether lips met Lord Nocent's eyes, and the stirring of his yet-flaccid cock was a source of delight to her.

Fussig was now as intent on ravishing Tulsa as would have been the lustiest of his fellow Lenge. And Tulsa, for her part, would not have stopped him even if she'd wanted to—which was an absurd notion, really, because the insuccubus was, like all the rest of her infernal breed, created and conditioned by the Witch Queen to be utterly and hopelessly obssessed with sex.

So Tulsa moaned theatrically (though not insincerely) and arched her back, panting lustily as Fussig began to slowly massage her teat. Her tits weighed pleasantly heavy in his hands, and masterfully he kneaded them. The round, trembling globes of rosy flesh squashed between his searching fingers, white furrows left where his digits pressed into blushing skin. His fingertips were uncannily cool, and it sent a marvelous shock through her nipples when he pinched and twisted the stiff, puffy nubs.

Smiling in a predatory way, his handsome face twisting with lust, Fussig leaned forward and kissed Tulsa. He thrust his tongue and a mouthful of saliva through her lips, and she welcomed both gladly, subserviently. His kiss aroused her and made her submit, her back pressed to the wall, pinned there by his hands. It was not a gentle or humane sort of kiss. It was hard, raw, base, and sensual.

The heat of his cock reached Tulsa's loins. She felt his hardness come near the gates of her womanhood. His phallus was rising to full mast at the sight and the feel and the taste-smell-sound of her, an impressively full and meaty member almost incongruous with his lean, unmanly musculature. Elfin and slight was his frame, even compared to other Langfolk, and he did not have the overwhelming physical strength usual to his sort. Still his grip was firm, and he did not tire easily.

"I adore you, master," said Tulsa reverently, biting her lip. "Sss... I can almost smell your cock, it's so close... yes, it really is a magnificent thing."

A delirious moan escaped the violette, and her head lolled on her shoulders, eyelids fluttering close until only the whites could be seen. Gooseflesh spread tingling, leaping, sweating across her body. She met her lord's dark, penetrating eyes and blushed. Usually they gave an impression of mental preoccupation, rarely paying heed to what was in front of them.

Not now, though.

"You've a nice body yourself, dear Tulsa," Fussig purred, staring heatedly into her eyes. She was transfixed by the force of his gaze. "No matter what shape it takes, you always seem very pretty and... _pleasurable_."

He reached a hand around to grip one of Tulsa's firm, pert buttocks while the other continued to molest her soft, ample teat. His body inched closer, loins drawing well nigh to the insuccubus's chosen sex. A fully erect cock pressed near tight thighs. Their surroundings seemed to grow dim and hazy, as if shrouded through a gloom, and Tulsa felt a substantial yet immaterial weight bear down upon her.

She felt her innermost being scrutinized by those deep, glinting eyes. Under flesh and bone and sinew was the untouchable substance of mind and soul. A shiver ran through her, and had she at that moment discarded all material raiment and divorced herself from incarnation, still she would feel the thrill of pleasure that he kindled within her.

Perhaps it was only a byproduct of the purpose woven into the core of who she was, the prime directive instilled by Stitmub of Mount Ruin. Perhaps it was a result of his powers in mind and spirit that were so advanced beyond the norm. Or perhaps it was a natural continuation of her personal fondness and devotion to Nocens Novem, the Lang Cock Fussig of Eveland.

Whatever the case, Tulsa felt profoundly delighted by her master's consideration, and all the more deeply so for the rarity of such attentions. He was an intelluctual at heart, in habit and temper, and he existed usually on an almost spiritual plane of thought, little heeding the day-to-day matters of petty, temporal existence. There was typically a kind of clinical aloofness to his glance, the suggestion of a purely scientific and philosophical mind.

Usually he had little special interest in sex (a quality that set him well apart from the rest of his kind, as did his height and stubble also) but at those times when his baser instincts were awakened it seemed all the more pronounced compared to his normal abstinence. It thrilled Tulsa to see the light kindle in her master's eyes and lock itself onto her form, to perceive his lips and hands and throbbing cock coming rapaciously unto her nubile flesh.

In that moment, Fussig was concentrating the full breadth of his attentions on the sorts of intercourse best loved by his race. The depth of his intellect focused itself on the task of claiming and ravishing his familiar.

Tulsa purred as his manhood pushed between her labia, shunting aside the soft lips of her maidenhead. It was hot and hard, a pulsating length of rigid flesh that squelched into her sex, thumping her loins as Fussig fondled her and pressed her up against the wall.

Glittering eyes drank in the face of her master, perceiving the flush that spread across his cheeks as he delved into her sopping wet sex.

Fussig smiled and squeezed Tulsa's breast harder. His cock thrust into her, squeezed pleasurably by the soft walls of her cunt, enveloped by the silky folds of a perfectly formed and fitted pussy. She made it to fit him precisely, and he appreciated that considerably at such times as this when he indulged in her body.

He leaned in close and inhaled, taking in the natural perfume of her body, a sweetly aromatic scent that aroused him as much as the sight of her nakedness.

_Clap, clap!_

Tulsa's pert, round bottom smote the wall with a steadily building rapidity. Her pink cheeks reddened more pronouncedly, and softly kissable lips quirked in a sultry sort of grin. Her inflated breasts bounced with the rocking of her body, a body that she rocked in time with the thrusts of her master, moaning and panting in delight as he fucked her.

"Yesss, that's _it_ ," she said breathlessly. "Ohhh, master, it's so good of you to get away from your books and engage in respectable hobbies. I worry about you, sometimes."

"Do you worry now?" panted Fussig, looking sidelong at Tulsa. His cock throbbed inside her pussy, and his fingers danced sublimely up and down her form. The pace of his thrusting grew ever more impressive as they fucked.

"Not now," Tulsa mewled, throwing her head. She bumped the wall rather hard, yet did not seem to notice. "But once it stops, I'll worry again. The longer you go between sessions..."

She bent her head forward and nuzzled it into the crook of his neck.

"The less _lenge_ I seem, right?" he guessed, running a hand through his familiar's silky tresses. "Well, I can't blame you for your concerns. It isn't healthy for me to spend so little time with my dick nestled in someone's flesh. But it seems a wearisome distraction from my other pursuits."

Tulsa breathed heavily, and Fussig felt her body burning up. She was very hot right then, and her entire form seemed to convulse a little between himself and the wall. He smiled and ran a hand down on of her thighs, squeezing fondly.

With a squeal, Tulsa suddenly came. She threw her head back, eyes rolling up to the white, drool glistening from her lips to her chin, cheeks a deep and splotchy red, her expression base and undignified to the extreme. Her pussy clenched like a vise around her master's cock, velvety inner walls constricting in a way that nearly cracked his nuts.

Appreciating the lewd expression his familiar made for him, and the way his cock felt inside her, the governor of Eveland leaned forward and kissed the insuccubus. This time it was her tongue that came into his mouth, and he welcomed it with a groan, feeling himself tighten and twitch and throb.

It was only another moment of thrusting before he, too, reached climax. Seizing up, Fussig emptied himself into Tulsa. His balls clenched, and a thick gout of sperm flooded her cunt. He creampied her, to put it vulgarly, and she moaned and wiggled her hips happily.

Then, with a mutual sigh they broke apart. Fussig pulled out of Tulsa, permitting his cock to soften. He smiled at his familiar, and she slyly cocked her head and winked.

"You're as good as ever, master," she purred flatteringly. Whether she spoke truly or not, it pleased him.

"So were you, Tulsa," he said.

She laughed and batted her eyelashes.

"Well! Should I prepare for Cunnock Bishmont, then?" she said. "I'm certain she'll want good food and a good fuck."

"But of course," said Fussig with a nod. He patted Tulsa on the bum. "Her cock is much more rapacious than my own, whatever you might say of her eccentricities."

Tulsa tittered, a gleeful light in her eyes.

"I still like yours better, though."

"You _are_ a hopeless flirt," laughed Fussig. "Go on, then! Tell Sarade and Selcitset to get everything ready for good old Fairy's visit."

Tulsa bowed low, raising her bottom above her head and placing a hand to her chest. Her tits had shrunken back to their usual, rather more modest size.

She smiled.

"Of course, master. Your wish is my command."

Tulsa ducked forward and placed the briefest kiss on his navel, fondling his cock and breathing in the heavily lingering scent of their mingled sexes. Fussig shivered at this act, but then Tulsa had stepped back and let go. She turned, giving her hips a womanly sway, then glided contentedly out of sight.

Smiling vaguely, Fussig picked his clothes back up and returned to the course he had been taking in the first place.

He whistled as he walked.


End file.
